The last-minute rush to pack, the desperate search for missing things/people/pets, the 11th-hour arrangements for transportation, lodging, meals — the things normal folks take care of first. Oh, and the flurry of spending to cover my a**, or at least dress it up nice for the world of hurt and consequences ahead.

I’m on very good terms with my own personal chaos these days, the last few days before Ride The Rockies. I’m looking at a mere 435 miles from Durango to Breckenridge, over the breathtaking, 12,000-foot passes of the Rocky Mountains, on a bike that’s screaming for a tuneup, on legs that have been doing a whole lot of nothing much in recent weeks.

Why the slackage? Some unexpected trips, crises, stuff.

Plus I live in Boulder, where being a mediocre cyclist is just a daily humiliation. Which means I come up with reasons to avoid being blown off the road by the Slipstream/Chipotle crew, the CU cycling team, or by the average, 70-year-old Boulderite out for an easy ride.

Which means I stay off my bike. For days and weeks at a time.

So, training? Preparation? Not so much.

The organizers of The Denver Post Ride The Rockies tour, however, have preparation down to a science. Since the very first Ride The Rockies tour back in 1986, its organizers have created one of the most ambitious, tightly-run, successful bike tours in the country. It draws cyclists from all over the world — this year, they’re coming from countries such as Pakistan and Venezuela, Australia and China. And it has drawn a committed, seasoned team of volunteers who use their own vacation time to keep it running smoothly, come hell or high water (or snow).

That way, all of the disorganized, frantic participants like me can still have a fantastic experience. Painful, but fantastic.

(I’ve run into Tour Director Chandler Smith here in The Denver Post building from time to time, and he’s constantly on the move, organizing, meeting and greeting, checking on road conditions throughout the route, maybe even eating once every couple of days…. And I almost feel guilty about my slap-dash approach. Almost.)

So this year’s RTR tour kicks off Sunday, running from Durango through the towns of Cortez, Telluride, Montrose, Crested Butte and Buena Vista before wrapping up Saturday in Breckenridge. We also have a midweek rest day — one entire, blissful, Port-A-John-less day out of the saddle — in beautiful Crested Butte.

So really, despite the part about the stabbing leg pain, the altitude sickness and the epic case of saddlesore — and the Port-a-Johns — I’m kind of excited about the whole thing.

RANDOM RTR

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ABOVE: Cyclists climbing the road into the Colorado National Monument loop.

It’s not a race
One of the great things about Ride The Rockies is that IT’S NOT A RACE. Really. You can go at your own pace and never feel like you’ll be left stranded on a strange road. With a blown tire. After dark.
There are folks of all cycling levels, of all body types and ages, of all motivations, and lots of them take their own sweet time — all day, if necessary.
There are those who are up before the b-crack of dawn each morning, pushing for the next town as if their lives depended on it.
Then there are those who fall out of their tents sometime around noon-ish, after spending most of the night in the community beer garden. How they manage that, I don’t know. But they manage.
I fall somewhere in the early part, mostly because nordic chicks like me don’t do well in midday heat. So I get a somewhat early start, find breakfast (coffee) along the way and make frequent camera stops on my way to the next town. If I meet interesting people along the way, it can take the whole day to reach my destination. Which is the whole point. For me, anyway.

The elitists among us
Many friends of mine are offended by the cycling community in general. They point to the folks with $8,000 bikes, wearing matching spandex gear that screams sponsorship, blowing through traffic signals and riding four abreast on skinny roads.
So for many people, the idea of some 2,000 cyclists descending on their towns is not a welcome prospect. And they’ll let you know.
As a cyclist, I’ve been shouted at, dodged flying beer bottles and been almost run off the road by trucks. On purpose.
I can understand where some of this anger comes from. As a driver, I get angry at cyclists who blow off traffic signals, creating frightening near-misses wherever they go. If they’re lucky.
But we’re not all elitist traffic hazards. Yes, there are a few of those in all road tours. Some even have their very own SAG wagons (Spouses And Gear in SUVs) and I’ve seen a few SAG it up particularly steep grades, only to hop out a half-mile before the top and make a grand show of “summitting.” (Reader: Take right hand, point thumb out and index finger up, hold up to forehead, palm out.)

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But there are also masses of interesting, down-to-earth, funny people on sometimes crusty old bikes, wearing cheap plastic doo-dads on their helmets and singing along to country-western songs on portable radios. I’ve seen folks on cruisers, unicycles, tandems, hand-cranks and other recumbents, or just really old bikes complete with rattling fenders and hard, cracked leather saddles. And they share the road.
(The photo above was taken during the 2005 Ride The Rockies, where I got a random hug from a passing cyclist).
Me, I’m a middle-of-the-road cyclist, so to speak: I have a no-name bike, mismatched spandex and a healthy respect for traffic, particularly LARGE traffic. (I ride an 18-pound bike. Do you really think I’m picking a fight with an 18-wheeler?)
In a nutshell, cyclists are like any large crowd of unrelated people. Some are really fun, interesting, respectful people. Some aren’t.

The tandem experience

I just don’t get it.
Relationships are hard enough, aren’t they? But I see these couples on tandem bikes, pushing an insanely heavy bike (not to mention two bodies) up a steep grade, one of them staring into the spandex-clad, sweaty backside of their partner for hours on end, and I just think… divorce.
I have arguments with MYSELF on long bike rides. Sometimes out loud. But if I was struggling up a hill and someone ELSE was yelling orders at me, there would be blood. Lots of it.
So for those who can complete Ride The Rockies on a tandem bike with a spouse/significant other and no blood, I am in awe of you. I don’t understand you, but I’m in awe of you.

In 2012, I asked a former colleague whether he was interested in running the Chicago Marathon. Two weeks later, he asked if I was interested in Ride the Rockies. I got a road bike, got on the tour, and have yet to regret it. This will be my third RTR.

Daniel Petty is the digital director of sports for The Denver Post. He competed in track and cross country all four years inc college, but that was six years ago. Now, he's doing Ride the Rockies for the first time.